


Training Day

by dracoqueen22



Series: Defiance [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Electric stimulation, Electrical Play, Face-Fucking, Fingering, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Predicament Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, nonconsensual pet play, repeated overloads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've had him for a week, and Orion begins to wonder if they ever intend to free him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In The Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042615) by [dracoqueen22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22). 



He couldn't stop shaking.  
  
His tanks clenched with hunger. But Orion remembered what happened the last time he'd pleaded for energon. The humiliation hadn't been worth it. Better that they offer it rather than come up with creative ways for him to earn it.  
  
Someone was touching his array. Fingers wrapped around his spike, squeezing it. More pushed into his valve, poking around as though it were a mystery. Something pinched his anterior node, making his hips jerk. False lubricant was sloppy between his thighs, forming a puddle beneath his aft. Orion could only guess who the fingers belonged to.  
  
He couldn't see anything for the frame straddling his face, the valve pressed firmly over  
his mouth, grinding down against his lips. Skywarp demanded pleasure, and Orion choked on his lubricants, struggling to please and always failing. Nothing he did was ever good enough for the talon-tipped fingers gripping his helm and shoving his face against the Seeker's scorching array.  
  
No amount of cringing allowed him to escape from Skywarp's plump folds and steadily dripping lubricant. The taste of Skywarp was thick on his glossa, down his intake, in his vents.  
  
“What are you good for?” Skywarp complained, hips making restless circles against Orion's mouth, his anterior node pulsing against Orion's olfactory sensor. “Can I get a little cooperation here?”  
  
“I told you,” Orion heard Starscream say with a sniff of disdain. “Grounders are useless. You should've bought at tame one.”  
  
“If I recall, you are the one that chose to keep it.” Thundercracker's stern vocals sent a chill straight through to Orion's spark.  
  
He'd learned in the past week of his captivity here that Thundercracker could often be the worst. Starscream dealt in humiliation, but Thundercracker dealt in pain. Skywarp only wanted to be entertained.  
  
“Yes, and you know very well why,” Starscream hissed, an implication that Orion continued to hear but wasn't explained. Every time he heard it, his spark quailed a little more.  
  
The fingers vanished from his spike and valve. Something in Orion dared to relax, until a blunt, thick pressure pushed against the abused rim of his valve. Orion squeaked as it forced its way past the rim, through his clenching calipers and notched up against his ceiling node. It was thick, nearly the girth of two Seekers taking him at once, and strained the comfort of his calipers. He was given no time to get used to the sensation before the item began to buzz, strong vibrations radiating throughout his array.  
  
Orion's hips danced, pedes kicking out. He made a muffled sound against Skywarp's valve, vocalizer spitting static but no words. His wrists tugged at the cuffs chaining them to the harness around his waist, immobilized. A moan tore itself free from his vocalizer, only to change to a shriek as something clamped down on his anterior node.  
  
His hips surged upward, twisting and turning, but there was no dislodging whatever it was. It pinched and burned, making his nub throb for relief. Combined with the vibrations in his valve, it was a unique kind of torture.  
  
It had to be Thundercracker's idea.  
  
“TC,” Skywarp whined, confirming Orion's suspicions. “You're distracting him with that.”  
  
“Then get up,” Thundercracker ordered calmly. “I have plans for its mouth anyway and you're in the way.”  
  
“I'm using him right now,” Skywarp said, his grip on Orion's helm tightening.  
  
There was a hiss, Skywarp briefly rising on his knees and lifting his valve away from Orion's mouth. He could cycle air through his oral cavity if he wished now. Not that he did.  
  
“Ow, that was my wingtip, you fragger,” Skywarp snapped and his frame jostled atop Orion, as though he had swung out in vengeance.  
  
“Sparklings,” Starscream warned, his mild tone hinting of an underlying humor. “Don't break each other or the toy, otherwise neither of you will get to play with it.”  
  
Skywarp grumbled something subvocally and at once, his weight vanished from Orion's frame. He gulped in air through his oral cavity, squinting against an onslaught of bright light. Hadeen gleamed in through open windows and the skylight. There wasn't a corner of the high room that wasn't bathed in sunlight. It was open and airy and gave Orion the shivers for every waking moment.  
  
“This better be good,” Skywarp said as he planted his hands on his hips. Lubricant slicked his thighs in visible trails from his valve.  
  
Orion rebooted his optics, trying to see what was going on. There was a blurry shape by his pedes, darker than others. Thundercracker, he assumed.  
  
“Here. Put this on him.” A hand reached out, offering something to Skywarp, who took it.  
  
Orion knew Starscream was nearby but didn't immediately see the Winglord. His gaze shifted to Skywarp, who knelt at his side. He held something, a tangle of straps and metal loops. He reached for Orion and Orion turned his helm away.  
  
“No,” he rasped, vocalizer filled with static. “I don't want it.”  
  
“Not your choice,” Skywarp chirped and gripped his chin, turning it back. “Could do this the easy way or the hard way, pet. It's up to you.”  
  
The pinch on his nub tightened into a sharp pain. Orion spasmed, crying out.  
  
“Don't concede to it,” Thundercracker growled. “Just do it.”  
  
“You don't want to make TC angrier,” Skywarp said in a mock whisper. “Do you?”  
  
Orion made a pained noise. Thundercracker's punishments were the worst. So when Skywarp let go of his face, he didn't look away. He shuttered his optics and grimaced as Skywarp wrapped the straps around his face and worked a wide, metallic ring into his mouth. It notched just behind his denta, forcing his jaw open to the point of discomfort. Four metal hooks radiated out from the ring, the tips pressing against his cheeks.  
  
“Is it secure?” Thundercracker asked.  
  
“Yes.” Skywarp rolled his optics and patted Orion on the cheek. “I swear sometimes he thinks I'm an idiot.”  
  
“Probably because you aren't known for following directions,” Starscream commented from somewhere to Orion's right. He turned his helm to see the Winglord sitting in a chair, elbow braced on the arm of it. He had one leg folded across the other and was watching them with a bemused look on his face.  
  
And then hands were on Orion's legs and he had to pay attention to what Thundercracker was doing. He had some kind of bar with cuffs attached and he was wrapping the cuffs around Orion's knees, the bar forcing his knees apart. He gripped something in the middle and the bar lengthened until Orion's knees were wide to the point of pain in his hip joints.  
  
Skywarp crouched next to him, elbows on his knees, frowning. “All this time spent preparing. I could have overloaded twice already.”  
  
“That's because you have no patience,” Thundercracker chastised. His expression was one of focus, his hands busy as they pulled more objects from a nearby box.  
  
One such item was a long, thin cord. Orion made a distressed noise as one end of the cord was attached to the clamp on his anterior node. Thundercracker gave it a testing tug, sending a sharp pain through Orion's array.  
  
“Sometimes, I just want the overload, not all this,” Skywarp grumbled but he lapsed into silence and watched, the growing lust in his field grating against Orion's own.  
  
Thundercracker slanted a look of irritation at his wingmate before he attended to his own task. The cord was pulled up, looping through the strap of the ring gag against Orion's right cheek, turning his helm to the left. Another tug and Thundercracker pulled the cord all the way down, attaching it to the bar between Orion's knees. He cinched it tight, pushing Orion's knees toward his chassis, until his frame was left trembling. If he tried to lower his legs, it pulled not only on the gag, but on the clamp attached to his nub.  
  
Orion whined. With the vibrator buzzing away in his valve, albeit on a low setting, and with the pressure on his nub, he was painfully aware of his array throbbing.  
  
“Hush,” Thundercracker said, flicking his nub with a single, disinterested finger. “I still say we should pierce it. Little ring right here? Would make all this easier.”  
  
He flicked Orion's nub again and Orion's hips jerked. His wrists tugged at the bindings.  
  
“I'll think about it,” Starscream drawled. He shifted his weight. “Though I am about to side with Skywarp. Hurry up.”  
  
Thundercracker snorted. “Neither of you have any patience.” He moved back between Orion's legs and drummed his fingers against Orion's spike panel. “Open up.”  
  
Orion had learned the perils of disobedience. He tried to focus through the discomfort, activating rarely used protocols that slid the panel aside and forced his spike to extend, though it was barely pressurized.  
  
Thundercracker immediately took hold of it, frowning as he measured the circumference with his fingers. He fished for something in his box and emerged with a thin metal ring, which he slid over the head of Orion's spike and nestled it all the way down at the base. It magnetized into place, cinching tightly around Orion's spike.  
  
Thundercracker released his spike, prodded at the vibrator in his valve as though checking to make sure it was still there, and then he drew back, dusting off his hands together.  
  
“There,” he said. “Now you can use it.”  
  
Orion cringed. His entire frame trembled, legs bent awkwardly, helm at an odd angle, frame positioned uncomfortably. His neck column twinged. His anterior node ached. He couldn't relieve the pressure on anything. Oral lubricant gathered at the corners of his mouth, trickling free.  
  
Worse was feeling their optics on him, three pairs, staring at his frame as though he were a statue or an object for their use.  
  
Skywarp leaned forward, dragging a finger up the length of Orion's spike. “You've got him all trussed up. What am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Use its mouth,” Thundercracker said as he reached down and pinched Orion's nub.  
  
Orion seized off the ground, pain and pleasure mixed together, shooting through his lines like a bolt of lightning. The vibrator abruptly notched into a higher setting, buzzing hard against his internal sensor nodes and making his valve clench down, rolling onto the rigid toy. It felt good beneath the pain and Orion hated that his frame loved it.  
  
His audial feed fritzed as Thundercracker rubbed on his anterior node, another flush of pleasure rocketing through Orion's frame. He twitched, helm tipping back, only to come up short because of the cord tugging on his nub. He curled back inward, legs trembling, valve cycling down around the buzzing vibrator. He could hear it and his cooling fans madly whirring.  
  
Thundercracker flicked his nub once, twice, and on the third time, Orion screamed as he convulsed with an overload. It tore through his frame and all he could do was thrash beneath it.  
  
He collapsed against the floor, fans spinning and frame twitching from the lingering surges. He couldn't turn his helm to look thanks to the cord but he knew that the Seekers had surrounded him. Skywarp's finger dragged up his spike again. It remained rigid, transfluid locked behind the ring Thundercracker had placed about the base.  
  
“I wanted to use this,” Skywarp grumbled and he pinched the tip of Orion's spike.  
  
“You have no taste,” Starscream said and there was a shift of metal before the Winglord pushed himself up from his chair, striding their direction. “Get on with the show, Thundercracker. Skywarp is right in this regard. We want to make use of it eventually.”  
  
He lowered himself to the floor by Orion's helm, one hand cupping Orion's jaw and turning his face directly toward the Winglord.  
  
“Your mouth looks lonely, little one,” Starscream said. His thumb pushed past the metal ring to rub across Orion's glossa. “Might I offer it some company?”  
  
Skywarp snorted a laugh. “You sound like a bad porno vid.”  
  
Starscream tossed his wingmate a glare before returning his attention to Orion. “I asked you a question, pet.”  
  
One Orion couldn't answer. The words might form in his vocalizer, but he couldn't shape them with his mouth. The odd angle put a pressure on the vocalizing unit that etched his glyphs with static.  
  
His glossa ached where Starscream forced it to the bottom of his mouth. The angle put strain on his neck and pulled the cable taut. He felt a sharp pinch to his sensitive nub, valve quivering around the yet vibrating toy.  
  
He heard a click, the soft whoosh of pressurization, and Starscream's spike came into view, pointed unerringly at his lips. The glossy unit was lined with stimulating nubs and had a ring of biolights at both the base and the helm. Any other time, Orion might have willingly opened his mouth to it.  
  
Not so much now. Not that he really had a choice with the gag they'd put on him.  
  
“Maybe it needs incentive,” Thundercracker said. There was a blur of motion from Orion's peripheral vision.  
  
Orion jerked as electric fire snapped against his array, setting all of his sensors alight at once. His nub shrieked warnings at him. Heavy tingles spread throughout his spike. The steady drone of the vibrator continued unabated, charge now licking its way through his entire array.  
  
His frame writhed in the confines of the cuffs and cord. He had so very little motion, however, and couldn't do more than whine  
  
“Perhaps,” Starscream said, his optics bright with lust.  
  
He removed his thumb from Orion's mouth and rocked his hips forward, guiding his spike to the ring prying Orion's jaw open. It was just wide enough that Starscream could slide his spike through it and into Orion's oral cavity.  
  
“Use your glossa,” Starscream commanded, his grip firm on Orion's helm, but not yet to the point of pain. The talons of his fingers pressed to Orion's dermal plating. Not yet pain, but that could change in an instant.  
  
Orion struggled to obey. The angle was awkward. Starscream's spike head kept banging against his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, the back of his intake. Drool spilled from Orion's lips as he tried to work his glossa on Starscream's spike, but the Winglord controlled the rhythm and the depth. Orion was nothing more than a hole for him.  
  
Electric fire returned to his array. Something crackled as it pressed to his nub, catapulting Orion from cold to a whining overload in a matter of moments. He jerked as though his frame were on fire, the ring pressing hard against his mouth and preventing him from biting down. His vents snapped on, struggling to pull in cooler air.  
  
“Don't damage him,” Starscream cautioned.  
  
“I know what I'm doing,” Thundercracker retorted.  
  
Another bright shock hit Orion's array. He offlined his optics to try and hide some of the pain, his systems torn between discomfort and pleasure. His whole array still sang from the previous overload, but the vibrations on his stimulated nodes itched and the sharp agony on his nub wouldn't ease. His frame was cramped and uncomfortable and all he wanted to do was run away from all of them.  
  
But there was a spike in his mouth, thrusting faster and faster. And a hand on his spike, gripping and squeezing. And tinier zaps of electricity biting all over his array, making his lower half dance to a strange beat.  
  
It was a mercy when Starscream finally overloaded, his transfluid spurting down Orion's intake and then coating his glossa. Starscream rocked into his mouth, pushing his depressurizing spike all around Orion's oral cavity before he withdrew.  
  
“Adequate,” he said with a disdainful hiss of his vents. He painted Orion's lips with the head of his spike, smearing transfluid everywhere. “We'll train you better with time.”  
  
“You plan on keeping it forever?” Thundercracker asked.  
  
Starscream tilted his helm, his optics considering. A chill settled in Orion's spark at the look. Especially when Starscream cupped the side of his helm, thumb stroking over Orion's family glyphs. The Winglord seemed oddly fascinated with them.  
  
“As long as he's useful,” Starscream said. His talon scraped a path around Orion's audial before he pushed away from Orion and rose to his pedes, wings flicking out behind him. “I'm done.”  
  
“My turn!” Skywarp waved his hand wildly.  
  
“No.” Thundercracker rose and Orion sagged with relief when he powered off the energy stick. “You take this end.”  
  
“You're so fragging bossy,” Skywarp grumbled, but he obeyed. It was becoming clear to Orion the dynamic of their triad.  
  
Starscream was the Winglord, but Thundercracker held a lot of the power. Skywarp was the subordinate of the trine, but could get away with anything. And no matter what, neither of them contradicted Starscream.  
  
“I saw it first,” Skywarp added as he settled between Orion's legs. His fingers flicked over Orion's nub. “I can't use any of this.”  
  
“Take out the toy.” Thundercracker settled at Orion's helm, crouching over him. He turned Orion's face toward him, forcing Orion to draw his knees up or pull on his anterior nub. The awkward angle made his frame shake from the exertion of holding himself. “But nothing else. You'll see why later.”  
  
“Time's like these I miss Flare. Now that was a grounder who was worth something,” Skywarp said, but he grabbed the end of the vibrator and pulled it from Orion's valve without any ceremony. He didn't bother to switch it off, only tossing it over his shoulder.  
  
Orion jerked, his valve clenching down on nothing, calipers rippling with surprise. His sensor nodes tingled from lingering sensation.  
  
Thundercracker snorted and extended his spike. He tilted Orion's helm back with a double-handed grip, forcing his backstrut to arch. It was uncomfortable and awkward, but that didn't seem to matter Thundercracker. He all but smothered Orion with his bulk as he slid his spike into Orion's mouth and set up a shallow rhythm.  
  
He offlined his optics, hating that for a moment, he actually felt more comfortable like this. Thundercracker's weight and bulk, the spread of his wings, the breadth of his mass... it blocked out the sunlight, the open walls. It made Orion feel like he was underground again, away from the threat of open air.  
  
The comfort didn't last for long. Fingers tickled around the rim of his valve before three pushed into his valve, their plunge eased by the amount of lubricant his multiple overloads had granted him. Skywarp prodded all around his valve, fingers seeking out and manipulating the delicate sensors within.  
  
Orion moaned around Thundercracker's spike, his knees sagging downward as he forgot to keep them up. The sharp tug to his anterior nub was a keen reminder and he startled as the pain knifed through his array.  
  
“Hurry up and finish with him, Thundercracker,” Starscream said in a bored tone. “I want your spike.”  
  
Thundercracker huffed, his thumbs pressing hard on Orion's cheeks and his fingers digging in under Orion's jaw. “You always choose the most random moments to suddenly want my spike,” he said.  
  
Fingers pushed harder into his valve, over and over, four of them now. They curled, putting a steady pressure on the node just behind his rim. Orion's valve cycled down, trembling. His whole frame shook.  
  
“Flick his nub, Skywarp,” Thundercracker said.  
  
“Can't I do things at my own pace?”  
  
“No.” Thundercracker pushed into Orion's mouth again and held himself there, circling his hips as his spike pinned Orion's glossa to the base of his mouth. He rocked his spike a bit further, poking the back of Orion's intake.  
  
Orion made a choked noise. His intake rippled, convulsing against the unwanted presence.  
  
And then fingers crooked over his internal nodes as something warm and wet flicked over his anterior nub. His array flashed into another sharp overload, his cooling fans spinning hard to compensate for the steadily overwhelming heat. He had no time to cycle down between overloads. His processor swam.  
  
“Ugh,” Thundercracker said.  
  
Starscream chuckled. “You have no shame, Skywarp.”  
  
“It's not too bad,” Skywarp retorted, moist ex-vents ghosting over Orion's valve, making him twitch. His fingers pushed deeper, more lubricant oozing free with a wince-inducing squelch.  
  
Orion just wanted it to be over. Wanted them to stop talking about him as though he were a piece of furniture placed for their use. He wanted Thundercracker to use his name instead of the dehumanizing 'it'. He wanted Starscream to stop touching his family glyphs with nothing short of hatred in his field. He wanted Skywarp's casual attempt at false kindness to stop.  
  
He wanted to go home.  
  
He wanted everything they wouldn't give him.  
  
Because Thundercracker pushed into his mouth again, grunting with every downward motion of his hips, until he overloaded, filling Orion's mouth with transfluid.  
  
Skywarp took his place, shoving his fingers into Orion's mouth, sticky-wet with Orion's own lubricant. He crooned while encouraging Orion to clean them.  
  
Orion thought that Thundercracker might go to Starscream and leave him in peace, but no, there was a shape at his valve again. Starscream, maybe. It didn't matter which spike pushed into his valve or who brought back the electric prod and proceeded to alternate between Orion's spike and his anterior nub.  
  
It didn't matter at all. In the end, they were all his worst nightmare.  
  
He lost count of the overloads. His spike strained, throbbing in denied release, the ring so tight around the base that it hurt. His valve seeped lubricant; it puddled on the ground beneath his aft. His much-abused anterior nub was sore and raw. There wasn't a part of him that didn't ache.  
  
Were his pedes there? He wasn't sure. His fingers tingled. His frame was hot, too hot. He vented and vented and nothing helped. He felt his fans spinning, faster and faster, to no avail.  
  
He tried to ask them to stop. He tried to beg. But all his vocalizer would give was static. And it didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like they would listen.  
  
His tanks churned. He writhed through another overload, systems redlining. He felt dried up. Used up. He thought they were going to offline him through overloads.  
  
And then it took a long, startling moment to realize that it had stopped. That there weren't hands on his valve and his spike and his nub or fingers down his intake. That he was aching and throbbing, but no one was touching him.  
  
Orion rebooted his optics, but his vision was blurry. He heard conversation, but it was dull to his audials. He sensed motion and someone's presence near his upper torso.  
  
The clamp abruptly vanished from his nub and his sensors reacted by sending fire through his array. Orion spasmed as the strain on his knees and face abruptly eased and his valve array throbbed. He groaned static.  
  
Hands pulled his legs down, flattening his pedes against the floor. The pressure against his knees eased as did the feeling of straps around them. He was able to pull his legs together if he chose. Not that he could make himself move. He was limp, legs splayed, his interface on display. What did it matter? They'd seen it already.  
  
A blur of motion near his face and Orion flinched. But all he felt were near-gentle touches as the straps were undone and the mouth ring freed from behind his denta. He could close his mouth now and a small whimper of relief escaped him.  
  
He could move. There no toys, no restraints, just the floor beneath his back and his legs drawing closed. He tried to return his panels, but his aching components protested. No, that was a lie. One toy remained, the ring around the base of his spike.  
  
But even as he recognized that, gentle fingers wrapped around his spike. False lubricant dribbled across the sensitive head of it. There was a pressure at the base of it and he heard a soft click. The ring popped free as the fingers stroked firmly down his spike. Orion's back bowed as he abruptly overloaded, spike spurting transfluid in all directions. There was no pleasure in it, only the vaguest sense of relief, and Orion collapsed back to the ground, vents whirling like mad.  
  
He curled onto his side when no hands immediately groped at his panels. His spike was limp, retracting only halfway. His anterior nub throbbed, sending twitches through his array. Another pained whimper escaped him. He was shaking. He couldn't stop shaking.  
  
There was movement around him. More shadows. A whisper of sound through his distressed audials. He heard a scrape of metal against the ground. Something moved closer to his helm and then he felt his upper torso being pulled into a lap. His helm pillowed on someone's thigh.  
  
Orion rebooted his optics, received a fuzzy image of black and purple above him. Skywarp. His trembling increased in earnest.  
  
“Shh, shhh, shh,” Skywarp crooned, the backs of his fingers stroking down the side of Orion's face. “It's okay. You did so well, Orion. You did very well.”  
  
His hands pawed weakly at the floor. He wanted to move but didn't have the energy. Something nudged at his lips, gooey and sweet. Orion's glossa lashed over his lips, barely wetting them. Whatever it was popped into his mouth, olfactory sensors registering flavored energon. It was a candy.  
  
He bit down, the sweet energon spilling over his glossa and down his intake. Orion moaned as it entered his tanks with a burst of energy that was gone too fast.  
  
The hand stroked over his helm again. Another goodie pressed to his lips. He opened his mouth, accepting it. This time, it was even sweeter, edged with some light metal Orion had never tasted. He chewed and swallowed and opened his mouth without prompting, glossa extending, begging without words. Each burst of energy was pleasure to him.  
  
“Good pet,” Skywarp crooned, still stroking his face and helm, his engine purring at Orion. “You're hungry, aren't you? So hungry. Here have another.”  
  
Skywarp radiated heat. In the sudden chill that had taken Orion's frame, it was a relief. He couldn't hear Starscream or Thundercracker. Right now, Skywarp was being nice. He scooted closer to the black and purple Seeker.  
  
Another goodie pressed to his glossa. This one was harder. Orion sucked on it, pressed it between his glossa and the roof of his mouth until the outer shell cracked and tart energon spilled across his glossa. He moaned again, pawing at Skywarp's other thigh with one hand. His energon levels crawled away from shutdown.  
  
“Yes, you are a good pet,” Skywarp said.  
  
His finger traced Orion's lips, sticky from the goodies. Orion's glossa snaked out, licking at them, eager for the barest hint of energon. He was starving. His tanks ached. His processor kept spinning, spinning, skipping. He couldn't focus. There was something he was supposed to remember. Something...  
  
“You'll behave, won't you?” Skywarp asked.  
  
Orion moaned and drew the Seeker's thumb into his mouth. Sticky energon clung to the grooves of it. He sucked on the digit, glossa lashing at the knuckles and the seams. Oral lubricants made it messy, leaking from the corner of his mouth. Skywarp shifted beneath him, adjusting the curve of Orion's helm on his thigh.  
  
“You can have all the energon you want,” Skywarp continued, his vocals a purr now. His hand pet Orion's helm, stroking his antennae, his audials. “I just need you to do something for me. You can do that, right?”  
  
Orion moaned and chased after the thumb as it retreated from his mouth. Skywarp was radiating heat, his engine a heavy thrum that vibrated against Orion's helm. His hand grabbed Orion's jaw, turning his helm, pulling it closer. Orion wriggled to keep up with it, picking up the scent of energon and something else.  
  
Sharp and tangy. Lubricant. A lot of it.  
  
His visual feed clarified with the additional energon, but all Orion could see was black and purple plating. The edges of Skywarp's legs, his thigh paneling. He felt Skywarp shift, felt a weight fall over his arm, pinning it to his side.  
  
“You've caused me to make a mess,” Skywarp said, his grip still soft, his hand petting Orion's antenna and sending soft waves of comfort through his sensory net. “I'm dripping now. I need you to clean me. You can do it, can't you?”  
  
There was a noise, like a sharp hiss of ventilation, somewhere behind Orion. He startled at it, but couldn't turn his helm toward it. Skywarp cupped his helm, gentle and firm.  
  
“Ignore him,” he said. “Focus on me.” He pulled on Orion's helm, guiding it closer to the wet heat he could detect. To the strong smell of lubricant.  
  
A thumb swept over his bottom lip again, encouraging his mouth to open. Orion obeyed because he was hungry and last time, those fingers had given him a goodie.  
  
The thumb pushed inward, over his glossa, rubbing it. Orion moaned, his hand pawing at the black armor in front of him.  
  
Skywarp shifted again and Orion's frame jostled. He felt enclosed, surrounded by Skywarp, his scent, his heat, his armor. It didn't matter that his optics were beginning to work again because all he could see was black.  
  
“You're such a good pet,” Skywarp crooned. “So obedient. Open your mouth, Orion. Do your duty. Clean up the mess you made.”  
  
The thumb was gone. A hand pressed to the back of his helm and Orion was presented with Skywarp's valve, the rim plush and inviting and seeping with lubricant. The dim glow of the nub's biolight calling to him.  
  
Orion opened his mouth, let his glossa slip first, and dragged the flat of it against Skywarp's valve. He tasted fresh lubricant, the heat of Skywarp tangible against his glossa. Above him, Skywarp moaned, pressing his face closer, enabling him to get a better angle.  
  
“G-good pet,” Skywarp crooned, stroking Orion's helm. “Very good pet.”  
  
The shudder wrecked Orion's entire frame from helm to pede. His hands dragged into quiet fists. The taste of Skywarp was thick and gritty in his mouth. He continued to lap at the Seeker's valve, however. He continued to please.  
  
Maybe it would be enough to earn him his freedom. He could only hope.  
  


****


End file.
